I'm Not
by Halibel Lecter
Summary: You're drunk." "No, I'm not either." One night in Las Noches, pain unbinds itself between two old friends. DARK Szayel/Cirucci, request by bleedsblackwalz.


It was a deep, dark, quiet night in Las Noches.

The smooth-alabaster halls were hushed at this hour, and the palace slept quietly but for one room somewhere near the center. There was a party going on in this room, for the sake of the holidays (though what holiday exactly, nobody was quite sure), and the light and music made it seem like a jewel in the soft white setting of the Nights.

"Merry Thanksgiving!" Nnoitra slung one arm around Neliel, studiously ignoring it when she slammed her elbow back into his ribs. "Or is it Happy Christmas? Or maybe Passover..."

"Kwanza," said Tosen, without looking up.

"No," sighed Nnoitra, "Never heard o' that. Ah well, the important thing's the party... booze, women, an' more booze, right Nel?" A second later, the Fifth sat in the floor with both hands across his bleeding nose. "Oghay... baybe dot the wiben." He sighed and stood up to go look for a drink, reaching the makeshift bar set up and downing the shot of a random person sitting next to him. Tonight was a perfect night to drink and party, and dang it, he wasn't wasting his chance.

"Hey." Nnoitra looked up to find the person whose shot he'd stolen. Cir... something. Cirucci.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know it's sleeting outside?" she asked. "First weather we've had in years. They say it might snow." Nnoitra glared hard at her for a second, waiting for some explanation of how this pertained to him, before finally giving up and leaving. Cirucci turned her attention to the barkeep.

"Hey. Did you know it's sleeting outside?"

The Arrancar poured her another drink when she rapped her knuckles against the bar. "No, ma'am. Is it going to snow, do you think?"

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Later that night, sometime around three after the party had ended, cleanup was under way. The Fraccion had been volunteered to come in after everyone had left, and were currently in the process of sweeping up broken glass, untying banners (and, in Tesla's case, letting one end swing down while holding on to the other and screaming like a lunatic) and the like.

Il Forte was rousting out the last few people who had overstayed their welcome, most of these by virtue of unconsciousness, when he came across someone sitting at the bar. "Hello?"

"Hey," said the person. He didn't recognize her at all, but if she was at this party and he didn't then she had to be Privaron. "Did you know it's sleeting outside? First weather we've had in years." Her speech was fuzzy and hard to understand, but he nodded anyway. "They say it might snow," she continued. "Do you like the snow?"

"I'm sure it's very nice," he replied. "But I have to get everyone out of here so we can clean up, so why don't you go on home, ma'am."

"I don't have a home," she replied. "I used to have one. Nice place, with windows an' everything... you coulda' seen the sleet tonight." A sad note entered her now-flat voice. "I don't have any windows now. Don't deserve any."

"That's very tragic," said Il Forte, "But you need to go. You can't be here, alright? It's late at night... surely you need your sleep?"

"I don't need to sleep. Don't have a job to wake up for, not one that matters anyway." She glanced around the room before allowing her eyes to drop. "Can't I stay here?"

"No, ma'am."

"Okay then," she sighed, getting up. He noticed she was unsteady on her feet. "Never mind."

There was a profound silence as she walked away, the slow beat of her heels uneven on the wooden gymnasium-style floor. She was the only other person he could spot that wasn't meant to be here, so his work was done. Now he could go back to his own room and get some much-needed sleep.

"Hey, Il Forte! We need a counterweight!"

...Or, he could help dismantle the lighting system that some genius had hung from the ceiling. Sigh.

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"Hey."

Szayel turned at the voice, spotting a bedraggled-looking figure in the hallway. He snorted as his mind chalked it up to the party tonight, and was about to close the doors to his lab when said figure went from standing to lying down, and in a hurry. Cursing his position as ex-officio field medic, the Octava sauntered out and knelt, turning the figure over with one hand.

"...Thunderwitch?"

"Hey. Grantzhh..." She smiled up at him, the expression fading slowly onto her face as if she had to decide on it first. "Did ya' know it'sssh shleeting outshhide?" He glared down at her. "Wha'?"

"You're drunk," he said simply, yanking her up. "Hell, Thunderwitch, you hate liquor. Why in the hell are you drunk?" Now he was really mad. He's skipped the entire party, and now he had to take care of a drunkard? He was _not_ paid enough for this. "What did you have?"

"Well..." Cirucci thought for a moment. "I don' really know...heheheheh..."

"You don't know, and you put it in your mouth?" He dragged her into the lab, finding the recovery ward and hauling her up onto a bed.

"Everyone elshhe was doin' it..." she drawled. "An' I heard it makessh stuff quit hurtin'... so..."

Now, this was interesting. Patient presents with alcohol poisoning, but complains of preexisting pain. Szayel began running tests, speaking softly as he did so. "What hurts?" He slid a needle into her arm to draw some blood, trying to hold her gaze. "Are you injured?"

"No..." she said slowly. "Just... everythin' hurts. My heart hurts. An' my head..."

"Oh, does it now? Do you think that maybe that's because of all the alcohol you consumed?" Szayel disappeared for a moment to drop the blood samples off at the lab, returning with some tablets of activated charcoal. A nurse had already had her change clothes, leaving them folded neatly beside the bed in favor of a generic paper gown. Thankfully one that tied on the front and covered well, for the sake of his old friend's dignity. "Swallow these. They should absorb some of the liquor and help you feel better." But Cirucci, much to his aggravation, shook her head.

"Gimme a little more first... so I can quit hurtin'. It's wearin' off." She was completely limp against the soft-white mattress and sheets, eyes bloodshot and face distinctly flushed. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was smudged, and there were faint tears in her eyes. This was not the Cirucci Thunderwitch he knew.

"The more I give you," he said softly, "The more it'll hurt. So why don't you just take these pills and you'll feel much better. Then we can get to the bottom of this pain of yours." Szayel's expression hardened when she laughed at him. "Just what is so funny?"

"You don' get it, do ya? What hurts?"

"You don't even get it yourself," he replied. "You're drunk."

"I'm not either." Cirucci glanced up at him before letting her gaze drop. "I don' get drunk. I just wanted it to quit hurting..." The tears that had been faint were now a little more noticeable, shining in the corners of her eyes.

"Want _what _to quit hurting?" He asked. "Please, if you don't tell me I can't help you at all."

"This pain that won't go away. This loss. I always heard... time heals all wounds, but it doesn't. Then I heard that there are ways to forget your pain... but I've tried it, an' it doesn't work too well."

"Loss?" He inquired. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I lost myself and I can't go back... Szayel, I never got to say goodbye to you with my rank intact. I never got to look at you as an equal and tell you I wanted the best for you, and to fare well..." The tears filled her eyes and spilled over, trickling down her face and sparkling in her hair. "I never got to say goodbye to anyone. I lost so much..."

Suddenly, the pain that he'd been asking about filled Szayel's mind and heart, sharp and breathtaking. The loss he'd felt when she'd left. The pain he'd shut away and locked deep inside, the feelings he'd completely forgotten about and the ripped threads of what they'd tried to weave. It was easy to see why she was in this condition, he thought, watching her eyes shine softly with understanding when she saw his face.

"You did lose a lot. I lost you, as well," he replied. "I shouldn't have. I should have kept up with you. If I'd know you were in so much pain..."

"It wasn't just you."

"I know, but you can't tell me that I wasn't part of it. Please, Cirucci, accept my apology." He sighed when she gave a small nod, picked up the tablets and swallowed them. "Do you remember... what we used to have?"

"Yeah."

"Is that what you meant, by loss?"

"Yeah."

He slid beside her on the narrow bed, lying down and wrapping his arms around her. She lay her head back against his chest, wriggling onto her side and pressing her legs against his. They fit together perfectly, especially with her hospital gown taking the place of her wings. He sighed.

"Has it stopped hurting now, that loss?"

"It will always hurt," Cirucci replied. "There will always be a little pain left over. But it's only what's normal... losing you was what really hurt." Szayel tightened his grip a little, smiling softly into her hair.

"What a coincidence."

"You hurt, too?" Curiosity filled her voice, as if she hadn't been expecting that.

"Not anymore," he said, beginning to feel sleepy. "Not now that you're here."

"Good. Hey, Grantz." Cirucci turned her head a little to face him, craning her neck. He leaned into her further and kissed her.

"Yes?"

"Did you know it's sleeting outside? First weather we've had in years."

"It is, is it? Or are you just drunk?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Sure you aren't."


End file.
